


That Something Good Would Happen

by BirdInTheMouthOfALion



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22427401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdInTheMouthOfALion/pseuds/BirdInTheMouthOfALion
Summary: Four Birthdays over the course of Geralt and Jaskier's travelling together.Brief Mention of events of S01E06 Rare Species, but otherwise barely canon compliant.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 427





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be trying to post at least weekly as long as my classes allow! This is my first time writing in the fandom but I just adore Geralt/Jaskier and hope to do it justice!

It all started one morning when Geralt found Jaskier, instead of eagerly demanding to follow him into certain death, deep in a cup in a tavern.   
“Drinking at this time of day?” Geralt sat across from the bard, who looked up with red, bleary eyes at the morning sun coming through the windows.   
“Another for me and the witcher here please” Jaskier waved down a barmaid.  
“Hm.” Geralt sat back, looking over his dejected friend. Another of the bard’s trysts turned sour perhaps? Come to think of it, Jaskier had been unusually quiet the night before as well. The ales were brought over, and Jaskier immediately downed his, pushing the other across the table.   
“What—er, monsters are we hunting today?”   
“How many drinks have you had today?”   
Jaskier didn’t respond, instead staring down at the tankard.   
“Well I am going to hunt a wraith, and you are going to stay here.” Geralt stood, downing his own drink. “Don’t spend all of your coin on drinks—it looks like we’re going to stay another night here.” He strode over to the door of the inn, sparing a brief look at his bard. It was not uncommon for Jaskier to sink into the occasional bout of melancholy, but normally he wasn’t shy about airing his problems for the whole world to hear.   
\-   
Returning to the inn much later that night, practically covered in mud from trekking through the swamp, he found the bard already up in their shared room, sitting by the small hearth. Jaskier looked up when he entered.   
“Oh good—you’re alive.”   
“Hm.” Geralt started to take off his mud-spattered armor, observing the flushed cheeks and slightly puffy eyes of his companion. “Is this going to be a habit?”  
Jaskier flushed brighter and ran a hand through his disheveled mop of hair. “No. I’m sorry Geralt— it won’t happen again.”   
“Do…” Geralt hesitated. He didn’t know why it was so hard, but he felt he should ask. That was what friends were supposed to do, right? “Do you need to talk about anything?”   
Jaskier glanced up at him, obviously surprised, and stammered, “N-no. I’ll be alright.” With that conversation seemingly over, he grabbed one of the pillows and blankets from the bed and laid them down by the fire, leaving the bed to Geralt.   
As the two laid down for the night, Geralt heard the bard shift and whisper, “It’s my birthday.”   
Geralt stared up at the ceiling, unsure of what to do. Witchers didn’t have birthdays, at least certainly not ones they celebrated, and he wasn’t sure what the human custom was for the occasion.   
“Do… you want to take the bed tonight?” He offered lamely.  
There was a long pause, and a sigh. “No, Geralt. Sleep well.”   
The room silent again, it took a while for him to fall asleep, pondering Jaskier’s odd behavior. Jaskier and him had been travelling together for nearly two years, and the subject hadn’t ever come up. The bard was the last person he’d expect to keep a reason to celebrate a secret, especially when he was normally so keen to overshare personal details. Geralt resolved to do some research on the topic of birthdays for next year… to satisfy his own curiosity, he assured himself. It certainly had nothing to do with the odd hitch in Jaskier’s breathing as the night drew on.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for attempted suicide in this chapter! I promise the next few chapters will be more comfort than hurt, but Jaskier's in a pretty bad place here. Hopefully I'll be able to post again soon!

Of course, by the same date came around the next year, Jaskier was no longer travelling with him. It had been a month since the events at the top of the mountain, a month since Jaskier had turned and walked away, Geralt too cowardly to even watch him go.   
No matter the guilt and pain Geralt felt in the following days, and the loneliness that came when he instinctually looked to check if Jaskier was trudging along beside him only to find nobody there, Geralt had told himself he wasn’t going to look for the bard. Jaskier was better off without him—without the danger and without a man who couldn’t do anything but push the people he loved away from him. So, he was better off alone. Hadn’t he always been better alone?   
Geralt wasn’t sure why, even without the bard at his side, he still remembered that it was Jaskier’s birthday, just as he wasn’t sure why, over the past couple of months, he had been winding closer to the coast over his travels. But when he entered the seaside village, he was readily distracted from these unwanted thoughts by a woman who came up to him.   
“Yer a witcher, right?” She asked, clutching a bag of coin. “The White Wolf, as the songs say?”  
“I am.”   
“There’s a siren round these parts—you can ‘ear her bloody song all the way up these cliffs. My nephew threw himself down into the waves afew nights back,” she looked down, “didn’t survive.”  
“Point me to where he jumped.” Geralt accepted the contract, boarded Roach at the nearby inn, and prepared for the fight ahead. Fortunately, Witchers weren’t as deeply affected by the siren’s song, but he knew that getting down to the water to fight the siren would be a hard day’s work, in and of itself.   
Following the path down the jagged cliffside for easier access to the shore itself, Geralt tried to shake the thought of what Jaskier might have said upon learning they were fighting a siren. Of course, Geralt would never agree to take him to the fight, considering that the fool would just take out whatever ear plugs just to hear the famed song. Even Geralt, ears stuffed with cloth just in case, could hear a soft echoing melody that did not, he reminded himself, sound at all like the soft plucking of strings after a long day of travel as Jaskier huddled by the campfire. The not-lute sounds and the haunting voice that accompanied them drew him to a small cove, where the siren, ghastly for all its sweet noises, bared its fangs at him. It was a long, drawn out fight as the two exchanged swipes of silver and rotted claw, and Geralt did not stumble away untouched, but the deed was done, and he had a head to haul back up to the down on the cliff. The woman who hired him was overjoyed, handing him his coin as she stared curiously at the creature’s head. “My sister, Esme, owns the inn across the road. Tell her that Jenny vouches for ya and you can stay the night for free.”   
It was as Geralt was confirming this with the innkeep, securing his room for the night, that he heard a strum and hauntingly familiar voice—  
“Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger,”   
Ducking into the staircase, he caught the sight of the familiar bard and his lute, strolling past tables of grinning patrons with that cocksure smile and those blue eyes as he began to lead the crowd in a drunken verse of The Fishmonger’s Daughter. Geralt knew he should go, but he couldn’t summon up the will to move as he watched Jaskier, smiling brightly and moving amongst the crowd, even pausing to flirt with a young lady for a tip (Geralt ignored the clench in his stomach at the sight). As the night wound on, however, Geralt could tell something was wrong. Though the bard looked well-off and cheerful, his eyes didn’t match the wide smile he was giving, and between songs he drank ale after ale. As the room slowly emptied, Geralt pulled back, expecting Jaskier to stumble up to his own room, but instead the bard finished off another drink and stumbled out the door. Geralt muttered a curse. What was that idiot doing, wandering out in the dead of night?   
He followed Jaskier as the man drunkenly stumbled down the road heading out of the village and towards the sheer cliffs that led to the ocean. Confused, Geralt felt a brief pang of panic as he wondered if there had been more than one siren, fears worsening as he watched Jaskier set down his lute carefully, and near the edge. It took only a moment longer and his sharpened witcher hearing catching a muffled sob before panic deepened, swelled into a sharp fear as it struck him what was happening.   
“Fuck.” He took off as Jaskier neared the edge.   
“What the fuck are you doing, Jaskier!” he called, and the bard looked up foggily, clearly struggling to identify where the voice was coming from in the dark.  
“Geralt?”  
“Get back from the edge before your drunken ass trips and tumbles over it!” Geralt shouted, nearing.   
“I jus—I just wanted to hear the ocean.” Jaskier said, but didn’t move, looking down into the dark waters crashing against the rocks below.   
“Jaskier.”  
“What are you even doing here, witcher?”  
“I’m sorry, Jaskier. For what I said on the mountain.”  
Jaskier just laughed, a broken huff. “Don’t apologize—I’m sorry I didn’t get the hint sooner. You’ve always wanted me to fuck off, don’t pretend you didn’t. People,” He giggled again, rubbed at his eyes, “they always just want me to fuck off.”  
“That’s not true. I didn’t mean what I said. I was upset, and it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. None of what had happened was your fault.” He hadn’t said so much in what felt like years, and it still didn’t feel like he was saying enough.   
“Go away, Geralt.” Jaskier wouldn’t look at him, kept glancing up and down at the ground.  
“I’ve missed you, Jas. I… understand if you can’t forgive me for the way I treated you. But travelling without you has been hell, and I refuse to let you hurt yourself. Step away from the edge.” He wanted Jaskier to come away from the cliff on his own, but prepared the symbol of axii in case. He would not lose the bard this way.  
Jaskier’s shoulders shuddered with tears, which Geralt could see stream down his face as he turned to finally look at him, but after a long pause stumbled back.  
“Fuck! What am I doing, Geralt?” He sobbed.  
Geralt strode over to embrace him in a tight hug, simultaneously pulling his friend further from the cliffside. As Jaskier cried into his shoulder, he tucked his face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his bard.   
“Never fucking try and do something like that again.” The witcher growled.   
Jaskier pulled back and met his eyes. “I have spent so much of life in places I’m not wanted.” There was that weak smile again, that soft sadness in his eyes that contained a world of hurt.   
Geralt drew him back in closer. Whispers, "I will always want you with me. Come with me."


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I like you all so much, have another chapter-- and this is a long one! Finally these boys come to their senses about each other. Content Warnings for rape/non-con references-- nothing explicit.

A year later, and the two were on the trail of a vampire.   
“So are vampires as sexy as they are in the stories?” Jaskier asked eagerly, striding alongside Geralt on Roach, the dappled sunlight through the forest boughs shining on his hair and freckles and purple tunic.   
Geralt smirked. “If by sexy you mean injecting a potent neurotoxin to paralyze their prey before bleeding them until there are only dried husks left? Sure.”   
“I’m sure I could compose something debaucherous about it. Lots of sucking—do they take their blood through the neck?”  
“Hm.”  
“At least tell me they’re sexy, immortal youths who lure their prey in with seduction! Don’t you want to make any money in the next couple weeks? I need to add to my repertoire.”  
“I can’t vouch for whether they are sexy, but when they have eaten they can maintain human form convincingly, making them difficult to track. They’re also nomadic, hence why we are following trade routes. They can often attack those traveling alone on the roads—not much seducing involved in that I imagine.”  
“Well then. I must say, you’re being particularly… forthcoming.”  
Geralt raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jaskier.  
“Not that I mind at all! It’s greatly appreciated! Just normally it’s like pulling teeth with you... me asking for details and you just saying ‘and then I killed it’ and obviously you killed it, but that’s not going to make our next ballad very interesting, now is it?” Jaskier babbled. Geralt just looked forward.   
“What can I say—maybe I’m just being generous. It is… your birthday, after all.” Geralt admitted, fastidiously not making eye contact.   
“Wait.” Jaskier blurted. “You… how did you know? Is this some Witcher power?”  
“You told me.”  
“When?”  
“I don’t know, you talk so much it’s hard to keep track of when you say things. A couple years ago?”  
“Weird. I mean, thanks I guess.” Jaskier was quieter now, and while Geralt couldn’t deny the tranquility of the bard’s sudden silence, he, remembering birthdays past, regretted bringing it up in the first place.   
Fortunately, the subject was dropped as they approached what a cart at a halt on the side of the road.   
“Ho, stranger.” A rotund man in fine silks waved at them, followed cautiously by a retinue of men and women in similarly well-kept garb.   
Geralt nodded, though hardly slowing. “You shouldn’t be camping here in the forest—it’s not safe. The road opens up in a few miles and you have plenty of time to get there.”   
“Actually,” the man hastened forward, “that’s actually why we require your assistance. We just stopped here for a quick lunch break before hitting the road again, when we found one of horses missing. Damnedest thing—we can’t pull the cart with only one. Would you be willing to part with your steed there? We have plenty to trade in return.” He gestured at the cart clearly loaded down with various goods.   
“No.”  
“Excuse me?”   
“What my fine friend here means to say,” Jaskier stepped forward, “is that unfortunately we can’t make any such trade. This horse is his true love—one simply cannot get in the way of that connection between a man and his loyal steed. But, maybe for some coin, we could try to find your horse? Which direction did it go?”   
“We think through the thicket there—” a young man with pale blond hair and sharp cheekbones moved forward, gesturing over his shoulder, “But none of us wanted to go further into the forest, what with all the creatures lurking about.”  
“Fair enough,” Jaskier nodded, moving in closer and winking. “There are some truly terrifying creatures out there—I would know well enough. Me and my witcher friend here are in pursuit of a vampire.”  
Geralt rolled his eyes, watching the various young women gasp and edge closer. He had seen this often enough at the various towns they pass through when Jaskier tries to bed some barmaid.   
“Jaskier, let’s go.”  
“Sir, if you won’t be willing to part with your mare, we would pay you to find our own in the forest.” The young man spoke up again, speaking to Geralt though his gaze flickered to Jaskier. Geralt frowned. Something didn’t sit right with him, and he fought to ignore the fact it could be that Jaskier was currently smiling flirtatiously at the young man. More importantly, however, he wasn’t going to hunt down a missing horse. He had a vampire to catch.   
“Do vampires only drink human blood?” Jaskier called after him as he turned Roach to canter on.  
“They prefer it, but it is not unheard of for them to consume the blood of larger mammals if needed.” Geralt sighed.   
“You think a vampire stole our horse?” The rotund man asked, looking nervous.  
“No.”  
Jaskier jumped in, “He thinks your horse wandered off and a vampire bled it.”  
“Fuck.” Geralt got off Roach and handed the reigns to Jaskier. “Stay with the merchants. I shouldn’t be long.”  
“Do I not get to see you take down this sexy bloodsucker?”   
“No, you do not.” Geralt leaned in, shooting a glare to the light-haired young man who was continuing to eye Jaskier, muttering, “I don’t trust these merchants not to try and take Roach and our promised coin.”  
“Very well,” Jaskier sighed, smiling at Geralt. “I suppose I will do some singing for these folks instead. But I’m holding you to your earlier commitment to detail—I want the bones of a good story for my birthday.”   
Geralt nodded, turning to stride further into the forest and resisting the urge to glance back.   
Fortunately, the search didn’t take long. Barely over an hour further into the forest, following the clear tracks of hooves, and he stumbled across the horse. Unfortunately, it was a husk of a horse, clearly having been drained. Briefly crouching by the corpse, careful not to smudge any tracks with his own steps, Geralt found, sure enough, another set of humanoid prints around the body. Scanning the area for the direction they led in after circling the horse, he frowned as the prints moved off back in the direction he had come from—towards the merchants. Fuck. Geralt took off at a sprint.   
-

Bursting back into the clearing where the merchants made camp, he was momentarily caught off guard by how normal everything appeared. There was no screaming, no blood—all of the merchants and family scattered around a fire as if nothing were wrong. Roach was tied to a nearby tree. He scanned the area for Jaskier—nothing.   
“Where’s Jaskier?” He demanded.   
The man in fine garb from early avoided his gaze. “I think he’s off on some, er, personal business.” He muttered.   
Looking around at the rest of the camp, Geralt could see the other members of the caravan quietly grimacing, and, of course, the man who had been flirting with Jaskier was nowhere to be seen.  
“Where did they go?”   
“They headed off in that direction.” One woman pointed. “But I don’t think you should go interrupting them.”   
“Right.” Geralt muttered, and stalked in the direction she was pointing, unsheathing a sword.   
In a clearing further into the forest he felt a pulse of rage sweep through him at the sight of the young merchant, trousers down, over the form of Jaskier on the forest floor, thrusting forward and mouthing at his neck.   
“Get. Off. Of. My. Bard.” Geralt growled, and the merchant turned his head, twisted face and prolonged fangs smeared with blood.   
“But he’s so pretty,” the monster hissed, snarling as Geralt leapt forward, pulling him off Jaskier’s paralyzed and partially unclothed body.   
Striking once, twice at the vampire’s mutated form, Geralt made quick work of the beast with his silver swords, but his heart was still quicker than it’s normal witcher pace as he rushed over to Jaskier’s still form and wide open, blue eyes. Blood seeped from the side of his neck, drenching his torn tunic. Scooping Jaskier into his arms, Geralt said, “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. Stay awake.”   
Sprinting to the merchant’s camp, he laid Jaskier down carefully once more and pulled his supplies from Roach’s saddle bag, applying pressure to the puncture wounds and retrieving bandages.   
“Hold on, Jas.” He muttered.   
“Is the vampire dead?” Someone called. He glanced up at them, as they all once again averted their gazes.  
“You knew.” He said, voice cold with rage.  
“It said no harm would come to us if we helped it set a trap.” The merchant’s voice quivered, cowering under the White Wolf’s glare.   
“If he dies, you will be held responsible.” He growled. “Bring me your coin purse.”   
The merchant did so as Geralt finished bandaging Jaskier’s neck. Fortunately, the flow of blood seemed mostly staunched, but Geralt wasn’t sure how long paralysis would last or if there would be further consequences. Any of his witcher potions would destroy any mortal body, and Geralt cursed himself for not carrying more human medical supplies. He had no choice but ride for the nearest village to find the closest healer. Taking the merchants purse to a noise of protest he swiftly cut off with a glance, he lifted the limp form of Jaskier onto Roach, who neighed nervously. Swinging up, he took off at a gallop.   
It was an hour’s hard pace to get to the nearest village, all the while Jaskier remained unmoving. “Your healer or witch,” Geralt barked at a passing villager, who replied,   
“The mage Yennefer of—”   
Of course. Blasted wish. Geralt rode off in the direction of the cabin they gestured to before they even finished speaking.   
“What a surprise to see you here, Geralt of Rivia.” Yennefer said, not even turning to face him from where she stood over some brewing concoction as he barged in the door.  
“No time for pleasentries, Yen. I need your help.”  
“There’s very little pleasant—” she paused upon seeing Jaskier in his arms—   
“what has your friend gotten himself into this time?”  
“A vampire. He needs more blood, and I’m unsure if the toxin will lift on its own.”  
“I think I have a solution for both.” She reached for her cupboard, gesturing for Geralt to lay Jaskier onto the nearby table.  
“I am willing to pay whatever price—”  
“Yes, yes, I will think of something suitable,” she interrupted, wasting no time in prying Jaskier’s mouth open to pour a red colored concoction down his throat.   
“At least, it seems, it was taking its time with him. Any more blood lost and this would be a lot dicier.”  
Recalling the way in which the monster had been molesting the bard’s unmoving form, Geralt grimaced.   
“What of the paralysis?”   
“It will break down over time, but I have something that should speed the process along. He may have difficulties in movement over the next couple days.” Pouring a second brew down his throat, Yennefer stepped away. “All that’s left to do is wait. He should be mostly away from it’s influence within the hour.” With that, she exited the cabin, leaving Geralt to pick up Jaskier and move him to a bed. Sitting by his side, clasping one limp hand in his own, he meditated on the reassuring thump of the bard’s heart to distract from the panic of nearly losing him which threatened to consume his mind.   
-

“G-Geralt” Jaskier struggled to moan, his hand twitching in the witcher’s own.  
Leaning forward, Geralt peered at Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes, which blinked slowly.  
“Take it slow, Jas.”  
“You’re calling me… Jas,” the bard smiled slowly.   
Geralt huffed and sat back. “Don’t get too attached to it.” He warned.   
“What happened?” Jaskier coughed and moved to sit up, panting in exertion at doing so. Geralt moved his other hand to support his back. “What do you remember? He asked quietly. Jaskier closed his eyes briefly.   
“We were looking for a sexy vampire… and I found one?” He huffed.   
Geralt frowned. “Don’t sound so pleased with yourself. Your cock nearly got you killed. Again.” Jaskier looked at him, making eye contact. Geralt looked away.  
“Why are you angry?”   
Geralt stood up, moving towards the kitchen to get water for Jaskier’s throat.  
“Hey. Don’t walk away from me when I can’t use my legs right now.” Jaskier said, pissed.  
Geralt turned around, growling, “What do you want me to say, Jaskier? You were almost killed because you had to go have a fuck with some merchant boy!”  
“What’s wrong with that, Geralt? I didn’t know he was a vampire! I think you care more that it was a man I was fucking with!” Jaskier stopped, chest heaving, and started coughing. Geralt got a jug of water and walked back over to the bedside, unsure of what had just happened. A tear rolled down the bard’s cheek and Jaskier refused to look at him as he approached.   
“Breathe, Jas.” Geralt rested a hand on his back, “Through your nose if you can.”  
A few moments later and the coughing subsided. Geralt poured the bard some water.   
“I’m not bothered that you are interested in men.” Geralt said, when Jaskier took the cup but still refused to look at him.   
“Then what’s your problem?” Jaskier rasped.   
“I…” Geralt hesitated. “I don’t like seeing you… with anyone.” He muttered.  
“Geralt.” Jaskier whispered. A hand, calloused by years of playing lute, clumsily lifted Geralt’s gaze to Jaskier’s own shining eyes, and the bard slowly leaned in, as if he moved too quickly the witcher would startle away. Geralt was still for a long moment, and leaned in, covering that last bit of distance to kiss his bard softly. Both of them moved softly, tentative, but Jaskier moved a hand to the back of his head and drew Geralt in closer. Geralt, in turn, licked into his mouth, feeling heat curl in his stomach. Parting for breath, Jaskier rested his forehead against Geralt’s. “I’m sorry.” He panted. “If I hurt your feelings, sleeping with people. But I thought you weren’t interested—you and Yennefer—”   
“Are a thing of the past. Our destinies may still be intertwined, but that does not mean we are seeing each other.”  
“I— was sure you would never feel for me. Everyone I was sleeping with was just to keep me from thinking about you—from longing for what I could never have. Even the vampire—I went with him but as he was kissing me I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to pull away, that’s when he bit me and I couldn’t move.” Jaskier shuddered. “He kept… touching me…” the bard bit his lower lip and Geralt pulled him closer, arms wrapping tightly around him as if to remind himself of the man’s safety.   
It was at this moment that Yennefer returned. She raised an eyebrow at their embrace, but merely continued forward.   
“I am glad to see you are better, Jaskier.” She commented. The bard lifted his head to narrow his eyes at her suspiciously.   
“Thank… you?” He replied.  
“You are welcome. The effects of the toxin should continue to diminish over time, but do not exert yourself. You may stay in this cabin as you recover, if you choose. I will be heading up North in a few days and have no need of the space after that.”  
“Yennefer,” Geralt said, “what of payment?”  
“Take care of him. We will call that payment enough.” She replied and moved once more towards the door. As she headed out, Geralt stood. Jaskier clung to his hand, looking troubled, but Geralt squeezed it and leaned down to kiss him again on the lips, and on the forehead.   
“Trust me. I am not leaving you.” He assured and followed Yennefer outside.  
“No longer just a friend?” The witch smirked at him.   
“Hm.”  
“I meant it, about taking care of him. There is a lot of pain there, under that obnoxious cheer.”  
“Yen. What—do you do for someone’s birthday? To show you care for them.”  
“Ah.” She peered at him with her violet eyes. “I don’t rightfully know. I didn’t have anyone celebrating my birthday growing up. But I hear there are sometimes parties? Well wishes. Doing things they enjoy. In most regions giving a gift is considered standard.”   
“Thank you, Yen.” From inside the cabin he could hear the soft tune of Jaskier quietly singing—  
“At mercy of bloodthirsty fangs/ till Geralt of Rivia with sword in he swang”  
“You’d better go back and tend to your bard,” Yennefer nudged him, “before he tries to add a verse about the magical healing powers of your cock.”   
“Hm.” Geralt turned to go back inside.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is full of fluff, smut and some of that good hurt/comfort to make up for all the pain Jaskier's been in for the past chapters. CW: explicit sex, implied child abuse/neglect

Another year passed. Miraculously, the witcher and his bard managed to get through quite a few scrapes with minimal damage, pursuing contracts and writing ballads as they passed through countryside and city alike. There was no sole direction or drive that moved them—they followed where work called, Jaskier being called to various courts which Geralt grudgingly escorted him to as the bard’s fame increased, and with it, the white wolf’s reputation. Despite their meandering path, it was no coincidence that Geralt ensured they were in Oxenfurt with no contracts on Jaskier’s birthday, though the bard didn’t seem to notice his machinations.   
Entering town the afternoon before, Geralt found an inn a bit above their normal price range and requested a larger room, and told Jaskier he had to meet some people about potential monster contracts but that they would meet at the inn that evening. Jaskier, of course, had the university to visit and presumably some old friends to catch up with, so Geralt was allowed to carry out some preparations for the next day in the meanwhile.   
He met back up with Jaskier in their room, who seemed a bit more tired than usual but impressed with the size of the bed and the nice fireplace, as well as the heated bath in the room.   
“I don’t know how much singing I’ll have to do for us to afford this. Geralt,” He grinned, “Did that last job with the Duke really pay so much?”   
“Hm.” Geralt brushed a strand of hair away from Jaskier’s face and bent his head for a kiss. “I thought we could take a bath together.” His hand drifted from his shoulder to massaging his bard’s plump ass. Jaskier moaned into the kiss, and eagerly pulled at the laces of Geralts shirt, breaking away only to push it over his head before working at his pants. Feeling as though his lover was entirely too dressed in comparison, the witcher made quick work of his silks until they were both panting, naked, and, as Jaskier moved closer to him and he could feel the hard hot curve of his cock pressed against his thigh, definitely erect. Geralt got into the bath first, reveling in the warm water, and spread his thighs, inviting Jaskier to sit up against him. The bard quickly complied, rubbing the cleft of his ass against Geralt’s length in a way that was no accident, as Jaskier’s eyes gleamed at the involuntary moan the witcher made. Geralt rested one large hand against the soft flesh of Jaskier’s neck, feeling the quiver of his rapid pulse as he nuzzled in the hollow of his throat, chasing that scent he’d become so familiar with. Jaskier sighed and leaned in to him more fully, pulling lazily on his own cock under the water. “Geralt, can I wash your hair?” He asked, and the Witcher acquiesced, drawing him into another brief kiss before turning and allowing his lover to run his hands through his hair. The oh so familiar touch of his bard’s nimble hands combing through his hair and massaging his scalp was intimate and reassuring, allowing him, even with heat of arousal tugging low in his stomach, to relax and slow. Of course, as Jaskier rinsed soap from his hair and playfully pulled at it, Geralt couldn’t resist the shiver of pleasure that came from the sensation, and quickly turned to draw Jaskier in closer.   
“Are you clean?” He rumbled.   
“Why do I get the feeling I might need another bath after this evening anyways?” Jaskier gasped flirtatiously as he rocked downwards, looking for more contact. Geralt grinned and, keeping his hands under Jaskier’s ass, rose out of the water. His small lover quickly wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around Geralt’s waist, and each step rocked his cock against the witcher’s well defined abs.   
“Ah—” Jaskier gasped at the sensation, throwing his head back. Geralt carried him over to the bed, laying him on the nice cool sheets and hovering over him.   
“Jas, what do you want?”   
Arms still wrapped around his Witchers neck, Jaskier pulled him down to moan in his ear, “I want you to fuck me, Geralt” and tugged, again, on his hair.   
“Fuck” Geralt groaned, involuntarily rutting forward. Jaskier giggled and replied, breathily, “That’s what I said.”   
“Hush” Geralt said, mustering up enough self-restraint to stand up and get the oil out of his bag.   
“You like when I talk in bed” Jaskier pouted, sprawling out and clearly enjoying the soft sheets against his skin.   
“I like your mouth in bed” Geralt replied, nudging one of Jaskier’s legs up and out of the way for better access to his asshole, which quivered beautifully in anticipation. They fucked regularly, but it always took some time to prepare because of the size of Geralt’s cock, which Jaskier always drooled over. As Geralt slicked up one finger and began to press it in, he bit softly at his lover’s inner thighs, taking pleasure in the marks that would linger there.   
“Hurry up” Jaskier demanded, shifting to bear down on Geralt’s finger. He crooked it in retaliation and smiled at his bard’s loud gasp of pleasure at the movement. His lover was truly noisy in bed. The second slid in easily, and the third came soon enough as he twisted and scissored his fingers, returning to brush against that same spot that made Jaskier swear.   
“Damnit—fuck me Geralt” Jaskier whined, and, Geralt raising up to lick at the demanding man’s nipples, complied by pulling out his fingers, slicking up his cock, and pushing slowly in. He had to breathe deep in order not to push too fast—the bard was warm and clenching and oh so beautiful laid out in front of him. Fully seated, balls flush against Jaskier’s ass, Geralt licked into his lovers mouth and the bard pushed deeper, drawing his arms and legs up against Geralt’s torso until they were pressed together all against the length of their bodies. Jaskier’s cock weeped, slick and impossibly hot, against Geralt’s stomach. Geralt ran his lips against Jaskier’s neck, briefly lapping against the puncture points which had scarred, and rocked forward, pulled back, pushed in again—setting a torturous pace for both of them that left them sweaty and craving more.   
“So help me—” Jaskier warned, groaning, “Move, love”. That was all Geralt needed, picking up the pace and reangling his hips till Jaskier whined with pleasure again—slamming that spot over and over and relishing the tight warmth against his length. It wasn’t long before Jaskier, head tossed back in sheer pleasure, cried out in a breathy gasp and came, cum splattering his and Geralt’s torsos. The glow of his warm, contented face paired with the shivers of the aftershock drove Geralt over the edge—thrusting in deep and spilling into Jaskier as he rested his head on the warm flesh of his shoulder, panting harshly.   
Eventually pulling out and padding over to wet a cloth to wipe them both down, he paused to admire the sight of his cum spilling out of his lover’s ass.   
“You’re so good to me.” Jaskier murmured, smiling contentedly as Geralt wiped him down tenderly and came to rest at his side. Geralt wrapped an arm over him, knowing how much the bard loved to cuddle (and admitting to himself that he loved cuddling just as much—the comfort of his lover pressed up, safe, against him at night) as Jaskier rolled over and he spooned him. Still in a hazy bliss of pleasure the two drifted off.   
\----------------  
Geralt woke early on the day of Jaskier’s birthday, being careful to pull away without waking the softly snoring man. Even in sleep, the bard rolled over onto his back, flinging an arm out grumpily in search for his heat source. Smiling at the sight, Geralt put his first plan into action, nudging Jaskier’s thighs apart to rest within them. He first pressed his lips against the marks he had made the night before, and slowly and gently licked and kissed those sensitive inner thighs. Jaskier barely shifted at the sensation, but his cock twitched and Geralt could hear a soft pleased hum, the sort he became used to once Jaskier told him about the dreams he would have of the two having sex. Many mornings over the year they had spent together, Geralt would wake to Jaskier rubbing himself against him unconsciously, and Jaskier had gotten in the habit of regaling his lover of the interesting scenarios his creative mind dreamt up so that they could recreate them.   
Geralt’s mouth licked nearer to Jaskier’s beautiful cock, and where it had been twitching before it was increasingly hardened as he breathed on it and began to lick. As he nuzzled closer Geralt could smell the scent of sex from the other night, and, hardening in response, had to fight the urge to rub himself against the sheets as he suckled gingerly. This wasn’t about him. He finally closed his mouth over the tip of Jaskier’s dick, who, roused at the sensation, gave a groan.   
As he lowered himself further to take more of his lover’s cock into him, he heard a soft, sleepy—“Wha—”, followed by a hand tentatively brushing at his hair. In silent reply, he swallowed, taking more of Jaskier in, and was gratified to hear a deep moan and that hand more firmly press into his head, another one to join it. His cock twitched as his lover softly tugged him forward by the hair, now making these delightful open-mouthed pants. Geralt tongued the vein under his cock—“ahh”. At this point, Jaskier was throbbing, rolling his hips up in shallow motions and Geralt continued to suck and warm his cock.   
“Geralt—darling—I’m not going to last long” Jaskier panted, and indeed cut off with a low groan as he came down Geralt’s throat. The witcher continued to suck until his shuddering stopped, and lifted to look up at his lover, who stared down at him in wonder. Just to be obnoxious, he licked another stripe up Jaskier’s dick and mouthed at one of his sharp hipbones.   
“My wolf—c’mere” Jaskier beckoned, slipping his hands down to pull his witcher up against him. He pressed soft kisses to each of Geralt’s cheeks, and licked into his mouth, tasting himself as he did so. A hand crept down between them as the kissing continued to wrap around Geralt’s dick and he whimpered into Jaskier’s mouth—already on edge from sucking off his lover and the rumpled happiness of Jaskier’s expression. There was just something so intoxicating about taking care of his bard.   
“What shall we do about this?” Jaskier muttered as he continued to stroke his Witcher.   
“Mmm” Geralt hummed in reply, toes curling.   
“What do you think, love? My sweet witcher, my brutish boy, my protector? What do I do to a gorgeous man in my bed?” His hand quickened. Geralt trembled at his lovely tenor.   
“Should I write a poem for him? Not one for the crowds—just words between them that he can pant in his ear when they fuck?”   
The hand continued its pace, while the other curled at the nape of his neck, rubbing there for a moment as Jaskier whispered “Come for me my wolf, show me your pretty face as you press against me” and Geralt could only gasp in pleasure as he spilled over Jaskier’s fist and collapsed against the warm body of his bard. Jaskier continued to stroke the back of his neck as they laid there together.  
Eventually Jaskier lifted his head to gaze down at him appreciatively—“That was a welcome surprise. Any particular occasion?”   
Geralt met his gaze, a little confused. “Is it not your birthday? Did… I get the date wrong?” He was sure he had remembered correctly.  
Jaskier startled briefly, but gave him a warm smile. “No, you got the day correct—I just hadn’t expected you to remember. Or well, for anything to come of it.” Before Geralt could better ponder the strange look in his eyes, the bard was kissing him again, murmuring, “Thank you for my present.”   
Geralt smiled to himself. That had by no means been the present, but it was sweet that his bard thought so.   
“Well, we haven’t got all morning.” He said, sitting up.  
“No?” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow. “Did you get us a contract yesterday?”   
Geralt just smiled at him and went to gather his clothes—“First, breakfast.” He was sure to slip on his dark blue shirt rather than his typical black, because he knew for a fact Jaskier preferred him in it, and slipped downstairs to order food.   
Jaskier was awaiting him in a back corner table, as per their usual, plucking a tune on his lute as Geralt returned from the kitchens carrying plates full of sweet bread and honey and cheeses and fruits and jams. Jaskier looked up from his composing with those same soft happy/sad eyes, which widened at the array.   
“Composing anything new?” Geralt asked as he stowed his instrument, and Jaskier shrugged, “I’m uncertain. I keep having to rewrite the sections about my muse’s lovely lips. Every time I keep kissing them I find new words to describe the experience.” He took a bite of cheese as Geralt leans in, “You realize,” he smirked, “that you have already wooed me. You needn’t try so hard.”   
Jaskier simply snorted. “Shows what you know about wooing. Hah. The Wooing of the Witcher might make an excellent name for my next song, actually.”  
“Jaskier.” Geralt warned.  
“Hmm?” The bard continued to shovel in food.  
“Don’t.”   
This time it was Jaskier who leaned in to whisper sweetly in his ear (though his mouth was still full of bread, which was slightly disgusting), “that’s not the response I was getting this morning when you came in my hand because I threatened to write you a poem.”  
“You are begging for a spanking.”  
“I thought I had already gotten my present, Witcher.”   
After polishing off the rest of the breakfast, though Jaskier saved a few apples for Roach, the two stepped out into the teeming square.   
“Where to then?” Jaskier inquired. “What near death experience awaits us around the bend?”  
Geralt lead him to the stables, rubbing down Roach as Jaskier fed her way too many apples, and finally saddled her up. Geralt swinging up onto her back, Jaskier started wandering to the road but halted when he realized his Witcher wasn’t following. Instead, Geralt held down a hand. Puzzled, Jaskier tilted his head, forcing Geralt to move Roach forward and forcibly lift his bard onto her back in front of him as they moved into the main thoroughfare.   
“Oh goodness.” Jaskier beamed. “Is this finally the moment everything has been leading towards? My ultimate goals and dreams realized?”   
Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle as Jaskier nearly vibrated with excitement. His overjoyed melodramatic chatter continued as the headed out of Oxenfurt into the surrounding woodlands. It was a nice day, a light breeze whispering through the glade as they cantered forward. So entranced was Jaskier by riding Roach that it took nearly a full hour of riding before he remembered his previous question hadn’t been answered.   
“So… what are we hunting? It’s unlike you to be so reluctant to share. I mean, where have the— ‘it’s dangerous, this creature could snap you in half’ or the more recent ‘these ghouls aren’t very interesting anyways, so why don’t you stay here so when I come back I can stick my massive cock in you because you’re glad I’m still alive’— gone?” Jaskier rambled on, imitating Geralt’s low voice.   
Geralt sighed. They were fairly close, anyhow. “There’s no monster. I didn’t find a contract.”   
Jaskier turned to squint his eyes at him. “But you paid for another night at the inn. We’re not leaving Oxenfurt yet. So where are we going?”  
“I guess you’ll have to find out when we get there.” Geralt explained. This, he knew, would be the hardest part. He would have to fight every fiber of his being not to strangle his bard once Jaskier started prattling on.  
“That sounds like something you’d say if you were planning on using me as bait for a creature.” Jaskier pouted, “Which is very unfair, Geralt, because I’m being very tempting today and I think your plan might backfire. After this morning I put on those silk panties you like so much—  
“Jaskier”  
“—you know the ones where when you first saw them on me all you could do was stare and you told me that they were the same color as my eyes and then you put your mouth all over me—”   
“Jaskier.” Geralt pulled Roach to a stop. He had found, especially in the last year, that riding while his cock was hard was incredibly painful. He fixed Jaskier with a stern look, and explained, quite patiently he’d like to think, that if the bard continued to talk, he would take Jaskier off of Roach, lay him down on the muddy path, rip those panties off of him, fuck him, and then tie and gag him with the panties for the next monster to find. All Jaskier could do was stare at him and Geralt looked mournfully at the position of the sun in the sky. Damn his plans, but they had several more hours of riding to do.   
Several uncomfortable hours of riding later, however, they reached the edge of their destination and Geralt knew it would be worth it. As they crested the hill, Jaskier still obediently silent though clearly yearning to ask questions, they came upon the meadow, teeming with vibrant blossoms and cut through by a beautiful blue stream, dotted with gorgeous shady trees to nap under. These lands were cultivated by Duchess Annelia as her personal gardens and safe haven. Every rich person had to have their personal project, he supposed, and was glad to take advantage of hers.   
Jaskier gaped at him.   
“Screw your threats—I have to ask. How are we here and not skewered on the top of some guards post right now?”  
A fair question. The Duchess’ obsession meant she was incredibly protective of the meadow, posting guards whose ruthless reputation meant few dared even approach the area.   
“I saved her and her daughter from a doppler a few years back and claimed the law of surprises as my reward. Little did I know that the gardener had just placed the final rock in the project and well,” Geralt shrugged. “I asked the Duchess for the guards to take the day off, and she deemed my ability to slay monsters enough protection to keep away the local would-be truants.”   
Jaskier and Geralt slipped off Roach, leaving her to graze, and hand in hand went exploring. As the day went on, splashing through the stream and secret waterfall they found, lounging under trees, even weaving flower crowns (as Jaskier insisted), the bard kept on slipping these glances at Geralt as if the witcher wouldn’t notice them. They were mostly full of wonder, or clear arousal, or just that unceasing joy that Jaskier seemed so full of. But some of them were also curious, or guarded. An unsure sort of sadness that crept in at the edges. Geralt wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about them, especially if he wasn’t supposed to see them, so he mostly just continued on with whatever he was doing.   
As the sunset was bleeding gorgeous across the multicolored petals in the meadow, Geralt and Jaskier settled under one of the trees, Jaskier tucked against his side as they stared out at the landscape.   
“Jas?”   
“Hmm?”   
“I…” Geralt paused at the bard’s close attention, but forged on, “didn’t know what to get you for your birthday. I’ve never celebrated them before.” Before Jaskier interrupted with that sad soft look in his eyes, Geralt raised a hand to continue, pulling a bundle from his bag.   
“So I hope you like this.” Unwrapping it, he pulled out a finely made cloak, with one side dark, with black and mottled forest green. The other side was a brilliant purple with flecks of that blue that matched Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier said nothing, just stared at it.   
“It’s reinforced, so it should be difficult to rip and will protect you. But I made sure they didn’t make it too heavy.”  
Still Jaskier said nothing.  
“And it has the two sides so you can wear either facing up. The dark is so that we’re out hunting you can hide and be safer. But I know you don’t like dark colors. I thought you could wear the other side up the rest of the time.”  
A distant part of Geralt’s brain asked—Is this what rambling feels like? But he was too focused on watching Jaskier’s expression as the bard reached out to touch the soft fabric. Again, that mishmash of joy and wonder and a deep sadness and   
Oh. Jaskier was crying. Desperately sobbing as he curled over and pressed his face into the newly gifted cloak. A cold sense of dread fell across Geralt as he stared on.   
“Did I do it wrong? I’m so—I’m sorry Jas are you okay?” His hands hovered ineffectually over the bards shaking shoulders, unsure if he should touch him. “Jaskier.”  
His lover looked up, still crying a constant stream of tears. He sniffled and tried to wipe them away.   
“Jaskier what did I do wrong?”   
“Geralt—” his voice wavered as he sniffled again, “growing up, uh, birthdays were always bad for me. My family, didn’t uh,” sniff, “like me very much? That uhm doesn’t matter really I just never expected my birthday to be a day anything good could happen on. And you’re so good to me and I just feel like I keep looking over my shoulder like is this real? When’s it going to stop?”   
Geralt looked on as Jaskier bravely tried to stop crying, tried to explain, with past birthdays flashing past in his mind. Jaskier drinking alone, trying to keep from crying as he slept on the floor. Jaskier standing on the cliff, saying that everyone just wants him to fuck off as he peers over the edge. Jaskier too still, still so close to might-be-dead asking if Geralt has an issue with him liking men, telling him he never thought that Geralt would feel for him. Yennefer saying to him softly, take care of him.   
Jaskier was still talking, stilted like he was trying to pretend like the fact noone had ever loved him or taken care of him or seen him for who he was before wasn’t a big deal.   
“It’s a um. A wonderful gift. This whole day. Every day with you. I love you, Geralt.”  
Geralt scooped the bard into his arms, thought frantically of the words that would explain to Jaskier what he was feeling, wishing he had the talent for words of his bard.   
“Jaskier I love you. I love you. I am feeling very angry at the people who were supposed to care for you and didn’t, and I don’t know how to convince you that you’re very valuable and worth caring for. I’m very worried that I gave you this cloak and it made you cry but I think I understand why. I love you. I love taking care of you and giving you things, even when it’s not your birthday. I—”   
Jaskier was kissing him, his face damp and his cloak clutched in his hands pressed between them.  
They would continue to sit under the tree in the field of flowers as the sun went down. Geralt would carefully clasp the cloak around Jaskier, purple side up and marvel as the shade of blue of his bard’s eyes. Jaskier would whirl around in it, catching his witcher’s hand in his own for a moment before asking shyly if Geralt would like to see him in his blue silk panties again. Jaskier and Geralt would return to the inn, satiated and yet ever hungry, maybe take another bath, fall asleep curled together. There would be more days, non-birth days, where Jaskier would continue to compose and perform and would write a poem that only Geralt could hear and they would fight monsters together. There would be days that Jaskier would slowly, piece by piece unravel the things done to him that made him afraid and lonely and feel unworthy, and Geralt would pace, rage, ask Jaskier’s permission for murder, and Geralt would sit at his side, quiet but ever-there, and touch Jaskier softly, and Geralt would kiss him, and promise him many more happy birthdays to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts and comments on the fic so far! I'm thinking about doing another chapter/sort of bonus epilogue, and am taking suggestions/recommendations for this fic or future geralt/jaskier goodness.


	5. 5 (an epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of fluff, found family, and love in this final chapter. Content warnings include: very subtle reference to a suicide attempt, and a healthy dose of smut

Several years later.   
Loud footsteps raced around the downstairs as Jaskier woke, sunlight pouring through the window, to an empty bed. Curious about the fact he had slept in so late, and hearing the soft murmurs from downstairs, Jaskier stretched and got out of bed. He crept quietly to the upper landing of the staircase and peered down to find a mane of white hair bounding about, and the solid form of his witcher standing in the kitchen working on something that smelled delightful.  
“What’s all this, then?” Jaskier smiled as he descended the stairs, still in his hastily pulled on clothes which involved one of Geralt’s shirts, much too large on him and slipping off one shoulder.   
“You’re not supposed to be awake yet!” Ciri cried, aghast, and went to simultaneously hug him and push him back towards the stairs. Geralt simply turned and smirked, but the bard noted with some satisfaction that his lover’s eyes lingered and darkened on his exposed shoulder. The day Jaskier had found out how much Geralt loved seeing him in his clothing had been an excellent day indeed—and had left him unable to walk properly for several days after.   
“Go back to bed!” Ciri demanded, continuing to herd him upstairs, and with a shrug Jaskier let her. Once up the stairs, however, he darted forward to grab at her sides and proceeded to tickle her mercilessly.   
“Ahahaha let me go ahaha” Ciri gasped between bursts of laughter, grin infectious.   
If someone would have told Jaskier back at the start of this whole adventure that he would one day be tickling the crown princess of Cintra in their house by the sea, he never would have believed it. The Jaskier who was still learning how to exist in the world, still haunted by his own childhood, would never have been able to even consider being this happy, this loved.   
Ciri made an opening by pushing her shoulder against his torso and spinning away as Jaskier fought to rebalance himself. Probably a move she learned from Geralt. She stood a fair distance away, but in front of the stairs as if to cut off his possible escape.   
“Get back in bed.” She commanded again and headed back downstairs. Unsure of what else to do, Jaskier took a moment to wrestle his hair under control somewhat and rinse his face in the washbasin before obediently returning to bed. He was rewarded by a pair of footsteps coming up the stairs, and Ciri and Geralt entering the room with a tray of food and some freshcut flowers in a bouquet. Ciri was carrying the flowers, which were an arrangement of blue and yellow and white, and she jumped onto the bed to give them to Jaskier along with another hug.  
“Happy birthday!” She said, still pressed against him, and his hold on her tightened for a moment.  
“Thank you, darling. These are beautiful.”  
“Me and dad picked them this morning,” she explained, clearly proud, “but I was in charge.”   
Geralt stepped closer with the tray as she pulled away and settled at the food of the bed, setting it on Jaskier’s lap. On it was plates of egg and meats and bread, as well as ripe strawberries and blueberries and honey. As Geralt set it down, he ducked to brush a kiss against the top of Jaskier’s head, but as he tried to step back he found himself caught by the bard, who had wrapped an arm around his leg.   
“Sit next to me love,” Jaskier requested, eyes still wide at the array and drooling just a little bit, ready to dig in. Geralt grunted but did as asked and carefully moved next to his lover.   
The morning was spent in a quiet haze of sunshine and laughter, with the three sharing the food and when full and contented, Jaskier insisting on weaving flowers into both Ciri and Geralt’s hair.   
“How am I so fortunate,” he mused as he tucked a blue flower into the section of braid in Geralt’s hair, “that I have two of the people with the most wild and long locks on the continent?”   
Ciri giggled, her own hair woven with blossoms. Geralt merely hummed, but Jaskier could feel the warm contented timbre in it, combined with the silent unwinding of tension that always came when Jaskier massaged his scalp.  
“My masterpiece is done!” The bard declared, resting his hands on his lover’s shoulders for a moment. Squeezing only lightly, he slid off the bed.   
“Are we going out, then?” He asked, and sure enough, Ciri was eagerly dragging him outside, with Geralt following close behind.   
This was not the first birthday he had spent at their home on the coast, even though they traveled frequently and were often in various places at this time in years past. He still remembered the first birthday they spent there, back when Ciri was still at Kaer Morhen receiving training from the other Witchers, when he had found himself watching the sun set into the ocean.   
Geralt had been unusually somber as he joined Jaskier on the shore and had held him close. Jaskier knew this was for the same reason that Geralt had insisted on finding them a place closer to the beach rather than the cliffs.  
“I was so close to losing you,” he had murmured that evening, tucking his face into Jaskier’s neck.   
“But you saved me.” Jaskier had replied, still gazing out at the water but tightening his hold on his witcher.   
Even now, years later, Jaskier would sometimes come to listen to the waves crash under the moonlight. Usually Geralt would come to sit at his side in the sand, not saying anything but just being a quiet presence, and sometimes Ciri would come too, shaken by her own nightmares (there had been many, those first years after the fall of Cintra).   
But on this day, his birthday nonetheless, the sky was an unbroken blue and the sun was high and the water glimmered as the three of them raced to the sand. Yennefer portalled in to join them there. With a warm hug for Jaskier and whispered birthday wishes, she helped him and Ciri in their quest to splash Geralt, who proved tricky to catch, both on land and in water. With their concerted efforts, as well as some minor magic, Jaskier finally managed to grab Geralt in the shallows, wrapping his legs around the witcher’s torso and arms around his neckwhile Ciri and Yennefer pulled his legs out from under him. The witcher and his bard crashed under the waves and reemerged as the water receded. Jaskier found himself atop Geralt, the larger man pressed back against the sand, and he raised his arms in victory. Geralt smiled back at him, a glint in his eye, but didn’t move to displace him. He instead ran a hand along the back of Jaskier’s calf. The bard, shivering at the sensation, was unprepared then when the wave came back, crashing over the two of them as Yennefer and Ciri cackled with laughter in the background.  
It was after this, still sputtering sea water, utterly drenched and coated in sand, that the group retreated up the shore to have a picnic. Jaskier even, though careful to rinse off saltwater and sand first lest he ruin his most prized possession, brought his lute out to the shore to play some music, to which Ciri roped Yennefer into dancing to.   
As the afternoon wore on, Ciri ran into the house to emerge, looking shy, with a loosely wrapped package. Jaskier took it with a small smile, noting the drawings of buttercups on the outside of the paper (Ciri had the glimmer of true artistic talent, and Jaskier was eager to coax it from her). His breath caught, however, as he carefully pulled apart the wrapping. Inside lay a bracelet of small shells and smoothed pieces of sea glass, corded together in blue fabric the color of the waves. It was clear Ciri had made this, as she shifted from foot to foot, gauging his reaction. Jaskier let the widest smile he could muster break across his face and lunged to wrap the girl in a tight hug.   
“I love it. It’s absolutely perfect, princess.” He covertly tried to wipe the wetness from his eyes, ignoring Yennefer’s smirk, as he urged Ciri to help him put it on. After much hugs and praises, Yennefer deemed it to be her turn.   
“It’s nothing so sentimental,” she smiled, “but I hope you find it welcome nonetheless.”   
Curious, Jaskier cracked open the small box she handed him. Inside was a small piece of what looked like gold, engraved with a flower. As he picked it up his fingers tingled. Magic of some sort, clearly.   
“What is this?”  
“Place it on the inner curve of your lute.” Yennefer urged him, and cautiously doing so, he gave an experimental strum. He was startled to find that, despite the sound of the waves and the breeze which had picked up, they resonated to be heard much louder, even with a gentle touch.   
“It won’t improve your playing, unfortunately,” Yen grinned at him, “but it might help you break the din of any tavern.”   
“Thanks Yen.” Jaskier beamed, even as Geralt moaned, “What have you done? Now there’s nowhere to go to escape the racket!”   
Jaskier swatted him. “You like my music,” he grinned, “you said you were lying about the fillingless pie thing.”  
Geralt rolled his eyes, huffing. It had taken some time, after the two had reunited on that close call of a night, for Geralt to make amends for the way he had treated his bard over the previous years. One step to them becoming closer was Geralt eventually apologizing for what he had said by the river the day of the djinn incident. His curt apology hadn’t been enough, as Jaskier had written a whole song about pie in response, and subjected Geralt to it over many a campfire until the witcher had bought Jaskier a pie and admitted, gruffly, that he actually enjoyed the bard’s music.   
As if recalling this very same memory, Jaskier began strumming again with the amplified instrument, falling into the verse, “A song like fillingless pie, bringing a tear to every eye,”   
“Jaskier.” Geralt growled, shifting towards his lover as the strumming continued.   
“And with that,” Yennefer announced as Geralt readied to pounce, “Ciri and I will be taking our leave.”   
Jaskier stopped singing in order to grant Ciri another hug and whispered thanks for her gift, and as Ciri ran over to hug Geralt in turn, stepped to pull Yennefer in.   
“Thank you, Yen.” He told her and rested his head against hers for a moment as she stroked his back.   
“You’re welcome, Jask. Now go have a delightfully dirty romp to close out your day. And remember my advice.”  
Jaskier grinned in response, pulling away as Yennefer drew another portal and Ciri stepped in through with her. The edges of the magic had barely begun to fade when he felt Geralt press against his back.  
“Eager, are we?” Jaskier squeaked at the sensation of Geralt’s mouth at his neck, the nip of canines at his pulse.   
“You have been irresistible all day,” Geralt growled. Jaskier shivered in response, though possibly also in response to the increased chill as dusk drew nearer. As if able to read his mind (Jaskier wondered if this was a witcher power), Geralt pulled him in closer and started walking them back to the house.   
After a cursory rinse to make sure they didn’t track too much seawater and sand inside, Jaskier grabbed at Geralt’s ass and the witcher yanked them towards the bedroom in response. They only made it partway up the stairs, however, as Jaskier hooked a leg around Geralt’s hip and ground them together. A step higher than his lover, Jaskier had the leverage to tangle a hand in the braid that had begun to come undone and pull Geralt closer. “Fuck” Geralt grumbled, and Jaskier winced at the sound of shins hitting the ledge of the next step, but the witcher mouthed at his nipples nonetheless, crowding closer.  
“I love you,” Jaskier gasped, feeling dizzy with how strongly he felt for the man in front of him, this man who held him close, who cared for him and whose love was constant and comforting. Geralt pressed large, warm and calloused hands against his back, set against his shoulder blades, even as his mouth worked lower and lower. The witcher dropped to his knees.   
“Geralt,” Jaskier keened as his lover licked past his demandingly hard cock, mouthed at his balls, and lapped insistently at his hole, “yes, please, I want you to fuck me.”   
Geralt groaned, but stood up just enough to be able to hook those two massive hands under Jaskier’s ass, lifting the bard against him as he continued up the steps and slowly down the hall towards their bed. Jaskier in the meantime contented himself with running his hands through the Witcher’s hair and kissing him, alternating the heated tangling of tongues and soft, chaste kisses along the column of his neck. Geralt was breathing heavily, though it was ease with which he placed Jaskier on the bed and crawled over him, bracketing the bard’s smaller body with his own.   
“I love you.” Geralt panted as he oiled a finger and slowly pressed it in, sharp yellow eyes watching Jaskier’s own. The bard tried to thrust himself downward, to take more as Geralt slid in another finger up to the knuckle. Geralt grumbled and bit at Jaskier’s neck, pressing down until the bard stopped fidgeting. He continued to work him open, torturously slow, until Jaskier had three fingers in him and was ready to scream with impatience.   
“I love you too. Now put your cock in me right now.”   
Geralt smirked and raised an eyebrow, curling those expert fingers so that Jaskier gasped, seeing stars. “Am I to do as you command?”  
“Yes. It’s my birthday, Geralt.” Jaskier whined, wriggling again to get better leverage.   
“I guess that’s true,” Geralt allowed, and withdrew his fingers. Mercifully, he was quick to replace the sudden absence with the firm press of his cock. No matter how often they fucked, every time Jaskier felt like he was being split open by the witcher’s girth, filled beyond measure.   
“So good,” Jaskier sighed as his lover began to rock, brushing that electric spot every time he moved. It was like fire through his veins. He tilted his hips and Geralt bottomed out, groaning at the sensation as he leaned to press their foreheads together. Slowly, without urgency, without the fear of loss or loneliness or pain, the two breathed into each other and found, like the warmth of a sun, like family, like deft hands weaving hair and laughter and heat and waves, a deep-rooted pleasure. Jaskier trembled as he spilled, cock untouched, at the insistent press within him. Geralt followed soon after, dropping messy kisses along Jaskier that would surely bruise as his thrusts became more erratic and he spilled into his bard. They lay quietly, side by side, the places where their bodies touched still electric.   
“Happy birthday, Jask.” Geralt murmured, propping himself up with some effort to peer at his love’s face. Framed in moonlight now rather than sunshine, it was still as beautiful. Jaskier smiled at him, seemingly oblivious to the pouch Geralt pulled out from under his pillow. Looking away for a moment, trying to compose himself under the intensity of his love’s stare, Geralt began, “I know this doesn’t necessarily change anything, but…” out of the pouch came the silver band. He rubbed the carved letters on the inside of the ring, dandelion, for the strength to continue, “will you marry me?”  
Just as shockingly as when Jaskier had started crying at that gifted cloak so many years ago, Jaskier began to laugh now. But before Geralt could ask what the laughter meant (surely it didn’t mean no, did it?) Jaskier was leaning away to pull something from the bedside drawer. When he returned, sitting up more fully, Geralt caught sight of the golden band. “What?” He asked. Jaskier grinned, “That witch! Did she know you were going to propose?”  
“Um. Yes.” Geralt admitted, “I wasn’t sure if I would do the human custom right. I’m assuming she knew you were going to propose?”   
“Well of course,” Jaskier pouted, “she told me I should do it on the night of our anniversary.”   
“Our anniversary…” Geralt groaned, “she told me it was custom to do it on birthdays.”  
“Well today is both.” Jaskier smiled, returning his gaze to the ring Geralt held and holding out his hand, shy.  
“Is that a yes?”   
“Yes.” Jaskier said quietly and watched as Geralt placed the ring on his hand. In turn the witcher held out his, and the bard slid the ring on. He could feel the grooves on the inside of the metal and knew without looking it was engraved wolf.   
Another kiss, this one soft, full of promise. And another kiss. Another. They pressed close again, would continue through the night with each other’s names in their throats, hands clasped, motions sure as the ocean outside their window.  
It was a day made special, but no day more full of joy than any other spent together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! If you enjoyed this fic please comment! Same goes for any suggestions, or things you'd like to see in the future as I plan out some more fics!


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